“Hard to say with the darkness, but my guess is a thousand, maybe more,” Brute said. “So much for hoping Cyric would come alone, eh?”
Stretching across the horizon was Cyric’s army. In the darkness they might have been hidden, but foul magic shone across them. Every one shimmered with a red light, much like moonlight flickering across a watery surface. And amid the horde he saw several that burned far brighter, as if they were moving torches, or demonspawn from the deepest reaches of the Abyss. Brute felt his stomach tighten as they neared with terrifying speed. He wasn’t afraid for his own life, but for those on the run. This was no normal army. Even on foot, they might outrace the river.
“Why’d you stay?” Brute said as he pulled his ax off his back. “I understand the rest, but you?”
Alex crossed his arms, and Brute recognized the look of a man struggling to hold himself together.
“Daniel said that Cyric’s army would have attacked Bellham before coming here,” said Alex.
“He did.”
Alex nodded at the approaching force.
“My family lives in Bellham. If that’s true, I’ve got nothing left. I might as well join them.”
Brute put a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed it tight.
“You’ll see them soon,” he said. “But before you do, make them proud.”
The rest of the defenders gathered along the wall, spacing out to exaggerate their numbers. Brute stood in the center, and he lifted his ax high. The wolf-men were less than a minute away.
“The mad priest will have no taste for a siege,” he shouted to them. “And if he does, all the better for those we protect! He’ll come running, and all that matters is us stalling as long as we can. The moment these walls are breached, retreat to the Blood Tower. We’ll hold in there until our last breath. You might have lived like scum, but tonight, we all die heroes.”
“Fuck that!” cried someone on the far end. “I’ll stay scum to the end. It’s heroes that die easy. I plan on going down hard.”
“You say that to your whores as well?” Brute called back, and a smile crossed his face. A long life of killing lay behind him. No long, tedious future of growing old and dying lay ahead of him. Whatever mysteries of the beyond awaited, at least he’d get to them now. The thought energized him, and when the wolf-men pulled back a hundred yards from the wall, each one howling at the top of their lungs, Brute held his ax above his head with both hands and howled right back. The cacophony thundered over them, carrying an almost physical force. Several held their hands over their ears. Howling, howling, like a legion of wolves gathered together to sing to the moon.
“Let them howl!” Brute cried, even though he doubted any of the others could hear him. “They can howl all night if they want. I’ll howl right back!”
And he did. Stupid creatures, thinking they needed to intimidate, to showcase their massive numbers. They knew nothing of what they faced. Keep wasting time, thought Brute. Just keep on wasting it.
The wolf-men approached, this time much slower. Brute was thankful they came from the north. The broken entrance was to the west, and there would be no way they could see it from where they were. From the enormous pack emerged two figures. One was a gargantuan wolf-man, his fur glowing crimson as if it were made of embers. It made Brute think of the two lions Cyric had originally summoned during his ritual, on that terrible night he’d betrayed them all at the Blood Tower.
Cyric stood beside the wolf-man, dressed in his priestly robes, his face illuminated by the fire of his companion. Brute wished he were closer so he could spit on him from atop the wall. The wolf-men fell silent so the priest might shout up to Brute and his defenders.
“How gracious for you to guard my tower in my absence,” Cyric said. “But you need do so no longer. I am home, and I bring with me an army. Kneel to the true god, and I will spare your lives.”
Wolf-men yipped and growled around him. Brute doubted they liked the idea of a surrender. They were hungry for a fight.
“Give me an hour,” Brute shouted back. “I’ll talk it over with my friends here, see who feels like kneeling.”
“There is no debate,” Cyric insisted. “No consensus, and no compromise. Kneel and live, or stand and die. Either way, you will serve Karak.”
Brute shrugged.
“I guess I’ll beg to differ. I won’t serve Karak, and I sure as shit won’t serve you. Send your pups after me, if you must. All hundred of us are ready to die.”
An easy lie. Outnumbered ten to one was still a dire situation, but with the aid of walls, they would inflict significant casualties. Of course, they didn’t have a hundred men, and their walls could be bypassed by a short run around to the west. Brute prayed Cyric realized neither.